New Orleans in the Spring
by Remy's Writer
Summary: V 2.0! Full summary inside. Romy fluff with some drama thrown in.
1. Notice to Present and Future Readers

**This is a brief notice to ALL readers while I work on my next piece:**

**I am not a local to New Orleans. I have never been to New Orleans. I do not know anyone personally who lives in New Orleans. I am trying my very BEST to create the most acurate atmosphere I can. If there are too many issues with my story for you to enjoy it, please don't read it. I am aware of errors that I may make. But there really is no way around it. So, please, bear with me and my discrepancies with acuracy. After all, you cannot teach what you do not know. If I ever plan to write a story or book for money making purposes that involves New Orleans, then I will either move there or do extremely extensive research and visit more than once. But until then, you will just have to deal with my lack of knowledge.**

**And as for the commentor who said there are no big back yards... the back yard I described was actually from a property in New Orleans. I did real estate research for that yard. And the Cafe du Monde has already been pointed out to me, no need to drag it into the ground.**

**From now on, if you're going to leave a review, please let it be positive or politely conscructive. I did not ask to hear how much people don't like my story.**

**Thank you.**

**RW**


	2. Out With the Old

Here it is. New, improved and hopefully plotted.

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Title:

_New Orleans in the Spring_

**Author: **_Remy'sWriter_

**Summary: **_The X-team has finally disbanded in a peaceful manner. Prof. X has died, Genosha has become a place of peace for mutants and their spouses run by Eric Lensher, complete with a relocated Xavier Institute. A momentary calm in the mutant community. Each member has gone their own route, some keeping in touch, to live a real life. Gambit was never a part of the team. After a failed attempt at living in her hometown, Rogue (taking the name of Anna) moves farther south to the Big Easy. Remy is in the midst of a divorce with Belladonna when she and Henri devise a plan behind his back. A plan that will unite both guilds against Remy. _(cue bad, suspenseful music)

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Disclaimer: I own nothing… sadly.

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It was stifling. I couldn't stop my head from hurting. Everywhere I went here, they stared so hard my head started to pound. It wasn't that they couldn't stop, they just wouldn't. They all knew me here. Even after ten years, they still knew me. How could they not? I was the only mutant they'd had and I had run off. I'm pretty sure they'd celebrated too. No more boys in comas, no more emergency room visits because the neighborhood kids were blacking out.

For five months I've tired to live here again. That's five months of stares, whispers, kids peeking into my livingroom window to catch me doing something weird. I'd moved back into the house I grew up in, with the woman who raised me: my aunt. She died two weeks ago and everyone thought I did it. Well, five months of suffocating in my hometown was quite enough. Now that nothing tied me here, I'm leaving again. Leaving for good. I sold the family house mostly furnished and got that much more out of it. I'd already put a down payment on a new house farther south.

It's a nice three bedroom. Colonial style. I could only afford it thanks to Xavier. I got the extra rooms incase one of my friends happens by. I have those thanks to Xavier as well.

Goodbye Mississippi, hello Louisiana.


	3. In With the New

**My chapters are going to vary in length, but I'm sure most of them will sadly be not much longer than this. I have very short writing blocks. I like to move from one even to another, because I suck at filling space. So bare with me.**

**I am aware that Cafe du Monde does NOT serve tea! Quit notifying me, please.**

* * *

The weather was nice when I stepped off the train. It wasn't much different than Mississippi, but much hotter than New York this time of year. That house in Westchester, forever wrapped in greenery, would always be home for me, but it was time for this Southern gal to be someone else for once. Someone other than a crime-fighting mutant vigilante. We were all starting over again. Logan ran off to find a little more of himself, Hank got a job at a university lab…somewhere, and Storm felt it time to go back to her village; spend some time with that growing godson of hers. Finally, we were all getting to lead happy and relatively normal lives. And, with the help of Hank, I could too.

I jiggled my wrist and listened fondly to my bracelet rattle, thinking of the furry little genius.

I'd taken a cab to the Café du Monde, my two carry-on suitcases resting at my feet. Paid movers already had the rest of my things sitting in the new house. If they were any good, the house key should sit on an outside windowsill on the upper floor.

A man in his early twenties and dressed in black came to take my order. His nametag read 'Gabriel' and he had a nice tan with soft eyes. He smiled at me and was polite enough to earn a couple dollars in tip, even though all I got was a nice cup of Earl Grey.

Grey. Always made me think of Jean. I missed her. It's been about two years now since she embraced Phoenix and disappeared to god-knows-where. Thinking of Jean made me think of Scott. And that made me wonder where he was, if he'd been able to keep going yet. I doubted it. Probably holed up and sulking somewhere.

I think I sat at that café just staring up and down Decatur St, watching traffic and the man with the cute balloons catering to children a few yards away, for a half hour or so before I managed to dig out a couple pieces of paper and a borrowed pen from Gabriel. I started writing my regular letter to Ororo since she insisted on keeping in touch. I even got a whole page filled before I heard hushed squabbling coming around the corner. I looked up just as the couple walked by.

Even in the din of the café, I could tell the petite blonde was making a verbal list, ticking each item off on a manicured finger. Things she wanted. He, on the other hand, had a cigarette between his lips and his hands deep in his pockets. He wasn't even paying attention, his eyes seemingly downcast behind his sunglasses. As they passed, though, I swear I felt him look at me. He looked long enough that I looked back. Then he cracked a half smile I'd soon never forget. It was charming, so I inclined my head in acknowledgement.

The couple got to River's Restaurant across the street when I managed to remember what it was I was doing previously. Oh. Right. Ororo. I made sure to mention my safe arrival to the city and remarked about the handful of handsome men I'd already seen, a certain one in mind. The pages, folded neatly into threes, slipped into the envelope with ease. I marked it to O. Munroe and from, simply, R. Postmarked New Orleans, LA.

Gathering my things, I left enough money for my bill and Gabriel's tip, along with his pen. My gloved fingers pushed the stamped letter into a USPS mailbox on the corner, then hailed another cab. My suitcases snuggly in the trunk, the dark-skinned cabbie asked me, "Where to, _femme_?" in a thick Southern accent.

I smiled and said, "Home, sugah. Jus' take me home."

His own smile revealed a few missing teeth, "A Southern Belle! Where you comin' from?" he asked as he pulled from the curb.

"An old life Ah never liked very much."

His deep voice rumbled with laughter. "You sure picked one helluvah place ta start over, _chere._ Welcome ta N'awlins."

* * *

There were a few reasons I picked this particular house. It was simple and white with a nice dark green trim, green being my favorite color. It had a big, unfenced front yard, a large tree on either side of the dirt walk. I really liked the freshly-soiled and ready to plant flower beds stemming from the porch to line the front of the house. Walking in, the first thing you saw was the staircase. I think I liked that because it reminded me of the mansion some. The back yard had to be the best part. Lots of grass. And more trees. It had this little dirt trail that wound and curved behind the small thicket of greenery that led to a large pond. A swimming hole. It was a little piece of Southern wilderness and it was all mine. I felt, just standing on the porch, that I could be happy here. Happy was just what I needed after the last couple of years.

When I found the door locked, I was glad that—so far—the movers had listened. But when I found the key under the Welcome mat, I frowned a little. Guess an unconventional hiding spot was just too much to ask. Nevertheless, I slid the key home, listened to the faint click of the lock and opened my door for the first time. Well, the first time for me, anyways,

All of the boxes marked for downstairs rooms were in the livingroom along with my sparse collection of furniture. A quick trek up the stairs with my suitcases in had confirmed that all boxes that needed to be _were_ in a spare bedroom, my bed and dresser placed in the master suite. I thought about all the work ahead of me, with unpacking and rearranging, and quickly decided to go out.

The sun was setting over the Big Easy and unpacking could wait until tomorrow.


	4. Easy Cards

**Another installment. Slightly longer. After an hour+ of surfing the web for the perfect styled club in New Orleans... I wound up with nothing. So, the first generalization of my story. Then next being their addresses, since one is never really mentioned (far as I've learned) for Remy... and I don't want to shop real estate for Rogue.**

**Thank you to Randirogue for some awesome insight to the Big Easy thanks to her recent trip. This one's for you. :)**

* * *

Bourbon Street. The heart of New Orleans for locals and tourists alike. Tonight, it was lit up like a Christmas tree. I think everyone here has to come to this part of the Quarter. Bars and nightclubs beckon you at every block, restaurants letting the smells of authentic foods waft out the windows and onto the street. Visitors crave the historics and the nightlife, while the locals come to give those passing by a taste of real Cajun life. They find their hole in the wall and stay there, luring the lucky few to sample a piece of home. Those few leave with wilder and grander stories than the masses. It was my time to turn into a local. Five easy hours here was nothing compared to the permanent vacationers, true. But this place was going to be my home, and I needed to start learning the ins and outs of it all. How better to do that than to wander aimlessly, threading through dimly (if at all) lit alleys looking for secret doors. Doors to places in need of a password, clues hidden in plain sight. I have to admit, I cheated with the first such door I came upon. Or at least tried to.

I tapped on the metal cleverly painted to match the timeworn brick of the rest of the building. The only lights in the narrow space were provided by the bustling crowd and glowing neon of Bourbon. It was obviously a secret little entrance to a back room, hidden from the rest of the wandering drunks. The soft jazz floating through the air only got louder when the door opened as far as the chain lock would allow. The face of a blocky man, obviously serving as a bouncer, filled the three-inch space. His eyes darted around me, no doubt making sure I was alone, then settled on my face.

"Members only," he said softly in a grainy voice.

I applied pressure to a small button, no bigger than the tip of a pencil, on the inside panel of my bracelet. My eyes closed and I dug deep into the back of my mind, using what extra power I'd once gotten from Jean. Mentally, I picked through his brain, finding the right words to say to gain entrance. I deflated internally when I could find nothing. Either there was no right answer, or he knew mutants. So I switched gears and willed him to let me in, just for a bit.

He raised an eyebrow and shut the door. Damn. I was just turning when the door swung open wide enough to allow me passage. His hand encircling my upper arm stopped me as I crossed the threshold.

"One hour, little lady. And you better have something to bet. Next time, just ask nicely instead of fishing around." Busted. At least he seemed a good sport about it. He slipped a piece of paper into the back pocket of my jeans and let me in.

For a "members only" affair, there seemed to be quite a few bodies. Decorations were modest, yet elegant, a lot of drapes and scarves in various colors. There were several card tables set up with varying amounts of players at each one. Above each table was a lamp, each with a bulb supplying only enough light to read your cards. The rest of the lighting came from the small stage set up just to the right of the entrance, gently glowing in purples, reds, and blues. A tall, dark-skinned woman sang softly in French while the band behind her played the melodious jazz tunes.

The jade green of my off-the-shoulder sweater mixed with the lights to make quite an ugly hue, while my jeans and cowboy-styled boots screamed way too casual for most of the clientele. With the amount of smoke in the air, I was glad I'd pulled my thick hair back into a ponytail, leaving only a few white strands to dangle in my face.

I went to the bar in the corner opposite the stage and traded a hundred in for a few little chips. It wasn't much to gamble with, but I hated gambling and hadn't intended to play any cards. Considering the lack of seating anywhere but a table, I didn't have much of a choice. I took my few chips and slid into a chair in a far corner, only two other players sat at the table. One gentleman was running low on funds and the other… well, I assumed he took them.

The winning player was sitting on the back two legs of his chair, a fedora sitting low over his face. His shirt was a satin material and a rich royal blue, the long sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He leaned forward, placing all four legs of the chair on the floor, as I sat down and settled in.

"Shall I… deal you in, _chere?_" he asked in a deep voice, a thick Cajun accent rolling over the words.

"If you don't mind," I said softly.

"Mmmm," he hummed, tilting his ear toward me. "Such a pretty little accent you got there." He tossed me a card, flicking his wrist expertly. He paused in handing our partner his next hand. "Jules?" he said, a sympathetic tone to his voice. "Jules… you in on this one?"

The middle-aged man raised his face in response, his dark eyes red and watery, his glass empty of its scotch. "If you t'ink I'm gonna let you sit here an' cheat me outta my money any longer, you a fool, LeBeau. Shoulda known better'n ta play wit you." Jules turned his tired face to mine. "You watch out, _femme._ 'Dis guy take you fo' all you got. He got an ace up each sleeve." With that, he rose clumsily from his chair, knocking it over in the process and stumbled to the door. He argued a brief moment with Mr. Blocky the Bouncer, and then tripped over himself into the alley.

"Guess that means he's out," the man in front of me mumbled as he quickly finished dealing. "Since I've never seen you in here, an' you don' look the type ta play much, I'll go easy. Simple five card hand, _chere._" He looked up at me from underneath the brim of his hat. I saw his eyes glow in the shadow of it. They blazed a bright, intense red. His lips cracked in a half smile I'd seen before.

I lifted my hand and calculated what I had. Nothing. "Three cards," I said, flinging them across the table at him.

"Why, yes ma'am," he purred, sliding my request so far his fingers brushed my knuckles. He pulled away at the small shock.

In that instant I realized two things: I hadn't reactivated my bracelet from digging around in the bouncer, and I was going to lose this hand. I now knew he had a simple diamond flush, which easily beat my flimsy pair.

"Shit," I cursed softly, folding my hand and resigning to the fact that I'd lost twenty-five dollars.

He chuckled. "Round one's over."

I let him deal me in again.

In a glance, I knew I could work with this. "Two," I politely demanded. He slid the cards to me in the same manner. The same shock passed.

"Damn, girl. You been draggin' your feet today?" He shook the tingling feeling from his hand.

Now I knew there was a card hidden on the underside of the table, directly below the deck. As his fingers slid over the top of the deck to draw his card, his thumb would remove the one underneath.

"If you use that Queen under the edge, Ah'll take all your money," I said casually as I arranged my cards. I had a full house with two aces and three tens.

He looked up at me in disbelief. Leaning forward, he whispered to me. "How you figure that, _chere?_"

"We'll call it confidence. What's your bet, mutie?" I met his eyes, raising an eyebrow at him.

He stilled for a moment, then looked me over. "One hundred an' that pretty trinket o'yours." Once again, he leaned back casually and tipped the chair.

"Ah'll see that," I said, taking one of his many twenty-five dollar chips and placing it with my own, as well as my bracelet, in the center of the table. "And Ah'll raise you… your services."

"What services?"

"You're gonna help me rearrange mah house."

He chuckled again. He laid down his cards. A small flush straight. With the Queen, he would have had a straight flush. But, alas, that ten of clubs I made him draw killed it.

"Mah full house beats your almost-flush any day." I smiled as I replaced my golden bracelet, making sure to brush that little button to reactivate it's very handy technology. "You know, for a card sharp, you really don't hide the best of cards."

"I save the best for last, _ma petite._" He smiled, lifting his hat with two aces taped to the back. "When shall I arrive?"

"Say… about eleven." I wrote my address on a napkin and handed it to him as I stood. "Much appreciated, charmer."


	5. Homecomming

**I feel slightly accomplished. Four pieces within the same week, plus a little time on my art project _and_ school bits. Yay.**

**So, I have come to the slight realization that this story some of the plot will be hard to get around from Rogue's POV. So... what will I do? That's right. Switch POV only every once in a while. Just every couple of chapters where it's necessary. I'll never switch POV in the middle of a chapter... I hate it when that happens. I will always post whichever name at the top so there is no confusion. I have also provided the english translations (the closest I can find to literal) in parenthesis. I hope you enjoy.**

Icyss: A card _sharp_ is just another name for a card _shark_.  
New Moon Night: I realized after you mention it that, yes, the last chapter _was_ a bit like the intro in "Origins." But I honestly wasn't thinking of the film when I wrote it. The only thing I consciously took was the hat.

**~Your Obediant Servant.**

* * *

Remy

* * *

She did it. The bitch did. She caught me cheating, and then beat me at my own game. I'd dealt myself a great hand on purpose, only needing to exchange the one card. But she had to be competitive. I just had to look into her eyes and slide those cards just far enough. I just had to know, even in the slightest, if her skin was as soft as it looked. All the while staring into those eyes… Those jewels, emerald and glowing and—

Wait. Eyes. Her eyes. Where did I know that _femme_ (woman) from? Think, think, think Cajun. This afternoon. That's right. Downtown, on the way to lunch with Bella and the lawyers. _Mon Dieu _(my God), Belladonna. Thinking of that woman always made my head hurt. And here I was, leaving to go home to her. Why did I get married again? Oh. Right. _Love._ Or maybe just something like it.

I think I waited a full ten minutes, the first five spent in a dubious shock at being caught so openly and the second boiling in hate for Belladonna, after that girl walked out the door before standing myself. There was still a slight haze clouding my mind as I stood at the bar, calmly waiting for Bruno the Bartender to trade my handful of chips for cash. My feet shuffled toward both the door and the hulking frame of Francis, thumbing the bills in my hand. Four hundred. I'd started with two and managed to weasel three from Jules… so where was…? The mystery _femme_ of Café du Monde. _Petit voleur_ (little thief) took my hundred. I shook my head in disappointment and sighed, turning to wink at Annette the Singer and tipping my hat to Francis.

"Don't let the door hit your cheating ass on the way out, LeBeau," Francis growled at me in amusement.

"Always does, _mon ami._" I slipped a Havana Honey cigar between my lips and sent a charge down the length of it and lighting the end, taking a deep first drag, the cherry glowing as bright as my eyes from the energy.

A few drags on the little cigar went by as I stared at the pulsing life of Bourbon Street from the shadows of the alley. The neon sign hanging above and just to my left cast a purple glow on my exposed forearms, bleeding into the blue of my shirt. I watched a few moments, the brim of my hat sufficiently low on my forehead, and caught the eyes of a pretty redhead across the street. I gave her a look that would no doubt make her breath hitch slightly and blush creep along her entire body. My eyes took in that well-kept form she hid under too-tight clothing; it was only slightly athletic, probably here on a school break. I returned to her face and let her have the full impact of my stare. She looked at me a minute, then seemed to understand what she was seeing. Her dull brown eyes widened when she realized I was a mutant. The curiosity was so strong in her; I could almost hear her thoughts screaming themselves at me. Had she opened her mouth, it would have been a slew of questions. I allowed her two steps off the curb in my direction before I faced Bourbon in all its nightly glory and disappeared into the thick crowd of bodies.

So much for Southern hospitality, I know. How terribly cruel it was for me to influence her with silent charm, only to deny her. Any other night, married or otherwise, I would have let her come, enthralled her with smooth promises of the best night of her life. We would have proceeded to some swanky, famous hotel on Canal Street and nameless moans and screams would pour from her small, pouting mouth.

Not tonight. I was too busy trying to figure out how I'd given away my Queen.

* * *

The porch light had been left on for me as I pulled my bike around to the make-shift garage I'd made out of the old storage shed _père _(father) put up a few years back. After finding the front locked, I went around to the back, having left my keys in the garage so I knew where they were come morning. The back door was unlocked, just as I knew it would be. I made sure the lock clicked behind me as I stepped into the great hallway.

I always thought this house was too big, but _père _left it to me along with the family money, leaving Henri with the Guild. The hallway connected one main entrance to another with just the staircase and loft running above the back door. I walked the length of the hall, my footsteps expertly silent on the marble tile. I took my hat off and flung it at the rack by the front door with a flick of my wrist just as I hung a sharp right up the stairs. Third door on the left and I began to unbutton my shirt, pulling it free of my slacks. The door opened the rest of the way with an easy bump from my hip and the soft light from the bedside lamp greeted me.

"I waited up f'you," a voice purred from the direction of the bed.

_Merde _(shit)_._ I had ignored the bed altogether in the hopes that she was asleep. Alas, poor Remy's hopes are crushed once more, much like his happiness. I still ignored her, moving all the way across the large room to the closet, opening the French doors to discard my shirt into the laundry hamper.

"Well?" I could hear the impatience seeping from that one word.

I sighed heavily, tired of her wearing me down with the simple sound of her voice. "Well, what?" I asked, not bothering to turn and face her.

I concentrated hard on the _ssssshhhhhht_ of my belt sliding across the smooth material and through each loop. Next, I focused on the task of removing the pants themselves after toeing off my boots. Everything was tossed in the hamper, the boots placed on a shelf above the hanging clothing.

"Don' you have an excuse fo' bein' out so long? Keepin' me up like dis?" Her velvet voice nearly growled.

Finally, I turned to face her, stark naked and threw my hands up in exasperation.

"What is it you wan' me ta say? _Je t'aime _(I love you)? Confess my undyin' appreciation for ya sufferin' of this late hour?" I pulled my flannel sleep pants from the foot of the bed where they were neatly folded. I could just feel her eyes roll as I slid them on and went to my side of the bed. "No one, especially _moi_, asked you ta stay up."

I slipped myself under the coverlet and switched off my lamp, drowning the room in darkness. Even as I lay as far from her as possible, Belladonna curled herself against my backside and held close.

"You can hate me as much as ya like, Remy Etienne LeBeau," her breath drifted through my ear, restoring my ebbing headache. "But until dis is over, _vous êtes la mienne._" (you are mine)

I fell into a usual, fitful sleep to the sensation of my skin crawling wherever she touched.


	6. Phone Calls and Furniture

**Dear Readers,**

**I'm alive! I promise. Sorry it's taken so long for this. You've no clue how busy the last couple weeks have been. 8-day work weeks and my sister's wedding, not to mention school work that makes my hand cramp.**

**Thank you to everyone who reads and those who review. I'm glad people are enjoying this. This chapter is a little bit of a filler, but I had to get it done. All the French I use is translated through WordLingo, so blame them if it's not completely acurate. A plot bunny wiggles its tail just a little in this one. The next chapter will be Remy and Rogue doing the normal intro stuffs... ya know, letting each other know more. Hell, they might even get to names. :P I plan on Logan making a visit very soon, too.**

**Your Obediant Servant,  
~R.W.**

* * *

Thank the gods Bella was gone when I woke up. I managed to drag myself out of bed and make it all the way to the closet. I found a pair of old jeans and, after a few minutes of digging, my beat up work boots. They were about ten years old and still in one piece. Scuffed, torn and stained, but still whole.

I pulled on a random shirt and turned to shut the closet. I spotted a napkin wadded in the hamper, so I grabbed it. There was an address written neatly across with "11 am" underneath. I thought hard as I walked out of the bedroom and down the hall.

Ah, yes. The _femme_ from last night. A glance at the clock above the stairs told me 10:45. I'd slept in.

I trotted down the stairs at a leisurely pace. Pausing with my hand on the doorknob, I heard the sound of Bella's hushed whispers from the kitchen.

"_Non_… Don' you t'ink I thought about dat?..."

If it was her lawyer, she'd have little reason to whisper. In fact, she liked to complain to that rat while I was in the room.

"_Non…_Listen, Henri…"

Henri? What would she want with Henri? Bella often went out of her pretty little way to avoid _mon frère_ (my brother).

"I wan' it in writin'… You're not gon' cheat me outta my share."

A completely new set of questions flew through my head as I slunk back to the front door. To avoid future interrogation, I made sure to leave loudly, slamming the door behind me.

I took the porch steps two at a time and went around to the shed. My keys were on the shelf where I'd left them the night before. The confusion of her phone conversation washed over me and I jammed the key into the ignition, turning it with a bit too much force. Any Guild business—the stealing of jobs, swapping of client information, or backstabbing in general—was usually done by correspondence and through the Seconds. They rarely, if ever, spoke to each other.

A forceful shove of my helmet had the top colliding with my skull rather painfully. The pain was pleasantly distracting and brought me back to the task at hand: meeting a woman. A woman who caught me cheating. Well, cheating at cards, at least.

One last echo bounced off the back of my head as I twisted the throttle and sped off; were the Guilds finally uniting against a common enemy? If so, who?

_Non_… That was Henri and Belladonna's problem now. Not mine.

* * *

It took me a good twenty minutes to find the house. For some reason, the green trim didn't much surprise me. The building was modest for some of the neighborhoods, but still managed to fit in rather well. I didn't spot a car in the driveway and secretly hoped she wasn't home. Alas, a knock on the door proved otherwise.

Her mouth was open wide in mid-yawn when she answered, those plump lips stretched tight in a large 'O'. For a moment, she just stared at me, her head tilted slightly to the side in some state of puzzlement. Her green eyes narrowed in thought, then widened suddenly.

"Ah didn't forget," she stated strongly, as if I'd said otherwise.

I blinked slowly. "Okay," I said simply.

We stood like that, slightly awkward, for a minute or two. Then she blinked furiously a few times and took a step back, opening the door. I assumed it was an invitation inside and took a tentative step forward. When she made no move to shut the door on me, I proceeded over the threshold. I stopped just shy of the doorway to the living room to look around.

The air was a little thick with dust, but nothing opening a few windows couldn't fix. There were boxes and a sprinkling of furniture thrown in a haphazard layout in the main room. From where I was standing, I spotted a few boxes scattered across the kitchen counters and imagined there were more up the stairs as well. I took a deep breath and shoved my hands in my pockets, curling my fingers around the lighter I kept there for something to hold onto.

She walked around in front of me, a good four inches shorter, and surveyed the living room for herself. I heard her sigh as she put a hand on her hip, her other going up to the messy bun at the top of her head, scratching just under the hair tie.

My eyes followed the line of her body. The tank top and cotton shorts she wore were obviously for sleeping, but they hugged her slender shape comfortably. Her hips were cocked slightly to the side and had the ideal curve. I could just imagine where my hands would rest perfectly on their swell. Well-muscled calves and smallish feet told me she did some sort of regular physical activity.

When she turned around to face me, her look was slightly apologetic. Her posture indicated that she had something to say, yet she remained silent, worrying her bottom lip.

"Where ya wanna start, _chere_?" I asked, hoping to move things along.

She seemed to think about that for a second. After a few glances back into the room behind her, she took a breath and looked at me. "Ah think Ah'll start by gettin' dressed."

I smirked. "Ya wan' help with that, too?"

"Hmmm," she purred. "Ah'm pretty sure Ah can manage." She moved past me and headed up the stairs.

"Let me know otherwise," I called to her just as she rounded the corner out of sight.

* * *

While she was changing, I made myself quite comfortable in her new home. I read box labels, flipped through the forwarded mail on the counter, and even thumbed a few pages of her address book. There were a few names, each filed in their alphabetical section by first name: Bobby, Eric Lensher, Hank, Logan, Ororo. There were a few others that I didn't care to take notice of. I knew Lensher though. Most people called him Magneto and he ran that island—Genosha—many mutants were flocking to these days.

I took a look around the actual house, too, not just her personal belongings. The back yard was nice with the scattered patches of grass and other greenery that needed tending. She hadn't been here long; the widow sill had a half inch of dust, and she didn't strike me for an untidy girl.

I eventually found myself wandering back through her effects, as I was never much interested in the cleanliness of my surroundings. My hand pulled free of her purse just as I heard her light footsteps down the stairs. Thirty-seven dollars cash, two credit cards and a couple of other plastics sat in her wallet. By the time she rounded the doorway into the living room, I had myself seated on the faded floral print sofa that currently faced the empty wall. I looked over my outstretched shoulder to her and smiled charmingly.

She had changed into a pair of jeans just as dilapidated as my own, paint splatters decorating them here and there. The knees were wearing thin and starting to tear through the last few threads of denim, accompanied by similar spots over her thighs. She wore a button-up short-sleeved yellow cotton shirt pinstriped in white. Instead of a bun, her hair was completely pulled back into a ponytail that reached just between her shoulder blades in length. None of that brilliant white framed her face now, leaving everything in the open. I even noticed a slight dusting of freckles across her face.

"Well," she began with a sigh and a smile, "let's get started, shall we?"

"Best suggestion I heard all day," I said, standing to face her. "Well… 'sides changin' your clothes, that is. I coulda been a real help there." I threw a wink at her for good measure.

"You gonna talk like that all day, Cajun?" Oh. Sassy. I like that.

"_C'est possible _(it's possible)," I shrugged.

She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation, but I saw her lips turn just a little. I knew she was fighting a smile. Never was there a _femme _I could not flatter.

"Get off yer ass an' help me move this couch, Swamp Rat."

"Oh, _chere._ That hurts _le coeur d'un homme _(the heart of a man)."

She gave me a very disbelieving look. "Ah'm sure ya tell all the girls that. Now help me move this damn couch." She bent to lift the corner nearest her and waited for me to do the same. The angle of her upper body allowed me an impressive view of her breasts and I paused in my actions, unable to help myself. After all, I am _amoureux des femmes _(in love with the women).

"Cajun! Sometime today would be mighty nice of ya," she said a little impatiently.

"_Désolé _(sorry)," I mumbled as I hoisted my end a few inches off the ground.

With a roll of her green eyes, we lifted, turned, and moved the sofa to sit against the wall it had been previously facing. The kitchen now sat to the right and the front window was on the left wall. The sofa now looked toward approximately six to eight feet of wall before the entrance to the front door and stairs. As I thought would logically follow, she pushed a sturdy-seeming wooden television stand into the empty space, centered with the couch, and complete with a sleek DVD player. The TV itself came next; I offered to carry it for her. I didn't realize, however, that it had a thirty-six inch screen and was a little heavy, even for me. Thank you to excellent balance gained through my Savate* training, I managed not fall over from the top-heavy load.

Next came gathering boxes and putting them in places a little more out of the way, then she had to find her Aunt's old rug to lay out in front of the couch, followed by the coffee table on top of that. Oh, wait. The rug just didn't look right. Therefore, we moved the table again, rolled the rug back up and moved the table back. According to her, that was much better. The only difference I could discern was the lack of the ungracefully discolored paisley design on that horrid rug. That was one family possession that needed to be thrown out.

* * *

_*For those who don't know, Savate is a kind of French martial art. I know Gambit is well versed in FMA... so I thought I might mention it a little here. I'm sure he practices Savate de Rue, though, which uses more body parts than. It's street fighting _(often called Danse de Rue Savate) _that uses elbows and kness as well, much like Muay Thai. For more info, visit here: .org/wiki/Savate#Techniques_


	7. Introductions

**Dear Readers,**

**Despite all appearances, I assure you, I am still alive. :P No excuses, I hate writing them. I just work a lot lately. Anyways, more filler kinda. Sorry about all the repeated dialogue, but that's what happens when you want to write the same scene from a different perspective. Hope you all enjoy this bit that's at least a little longer. Until next time...**

**Your Obediant Servant,  
~R.W.**

_

* * *

_

_Rogue_

I have to admit I was a little worse for wear when I woke up. I wasn't sure why, but all the different pieces of my mind were screaming while I slept. Every psyche I had stored, including the permanence of Carol Danvers, decided to fight over my dreams. The result was fitful sleep and a pounding head come morning. Needless to say, I slept in a bit later than was usual for me. I also forgot about the appointment I'd impulsively scheduled the night before.

Somehow, I managed to amble downstairs toward the kitchen, wherein sat the coffee maker and thus the object of my desire. After being reassured the electricity was turned on by the sizzling _drip, drip, drip, _I quickly threw my mess of hair into a bun.

Looking around the house, coffee now blissfully in hand, I wondered how it was I would get everything done. True, I hadn't much—just my things from the old mansion and bits such as kitchen wares, pictures and a few electronics from my Aunt's—but I still felt slightly overwhelmed. Not only did I have to rearrange, I also had to unpack and somehow find time to make a life for myself. I had a job pending at one of the hotels downtown, but going to work and coming home was not _a life._ That was a mundane existence that would, no doubt, turn into a resemblance of my "life" in Mississippi. That thought alone was motivation enough. Of course, the entire process would have to wait until my Jeep got here. Logan offered to drive it down from my Aunt's, allowing me to get here the same day as my things. He was supposed to be here by week's end.

Just as my train of thought wandered toward nostalgia of days long past, there was a light knock on the front door. I set my cup on the kitchen's island counter and moved to open the door. Unfortunately, as I opened my mouth to say… something, the details of which I won't even try to remember, my mouth stretched wide of its own accord in a yawn that left my jaw aching slightly.

At first I was confused, though not altogether disappointed, as to why there was a very attractive stranger on my doorstep. After a moment, the caffeine worked its magic on my sore head to clear away the mysteries of the night previous. He was here to help me with the furniture and whatnot. Not that I needed the help, of course.

"Ah didn't forget," I stammered lamely.

"Okay," he said simply. I now recalled that deliciously deep voice. And he was wearing sunglasses now, but I knew that he had a set of rather beautiful peepers behind the dark lenses.

It took a minute or two of _proper_ brain function for me to let him finally inside. As he walked past, I spied a motorcycle parked along the front of the house. I let a little smile slip to my face and thought again of Logan, Scott, the mansion. No… Now was not the time for memory lane. Now was the time… to get dressed.

I realized I was still in my pajamas as I stood with my back to this oh-so-handsome guest, staring, once again, at my mess of belongings and scratching my head. I thought hard about sending him off, doing the work myself. I even turned around to actually voice it, but instead bit my lip to keep the words from coming out.

"Where ya wanna start, _chere_?" he asked me casually.

I looked back to the living room a second, then again to him, thinking about an appropriate answer. 'How 'bout we start with you goin' home' didn't sound too friendly. And so I resigned my day to mental restraint of natural power and the help of Hank's bracelet.

"Ah think Ah'll start by getting' dressed," I said finally, fixing my posture slightly. I moved past him and started up the stairs.

"Ya wan' help with that, too?" he asked suggestively.

It was a little too early in the morning for that kind of talk.

"Ah'm pretty sure Ah can manage," I told him smoothly. I heard his parting remark as I hit the top of the stairs.

Up in my room, I rummaged through my dresser until I found the old jeans I was looking for. They were the only pair in which I did any kind of real work. The knees were gone due to a few too many rough basketball games with the kids, and there were weak spots everywhere else from general housework. I found one of the boxes that held all my clothes going in the closet and picked a random top. It wasn't really anything special and I hadn't worn it in a year or two.

After dressing rather quickly, I went into the bathroom and ran the cold water through my fingers a moment. I let my mind empty itself of all thought and fought for the quiet I wanted. There was the ever-present whisper of voices that said everything and nothing all at once until I cupped my hands and splashed the icy liquid over my face. It was a pleasant shock to my brain and everyone in it. I took a deep breath and wet my face a few more times before reaching for the hand towel I had unpacked last night. I blotted my face dry and enjoyed the silence I knew was only temporary.

Reaching for a brush, I ran it through my now loose hair and pulled in all straight back into a tight ponytail. Only a few flighty strands of white dared to hang in my eyes, the bangs I had a few years back now grown long. I gave myself a once-over, deemed my appearance worthy of public eye, and braced myself for the day ahead. On the way out of the bedroom, I scooped up my bracelet and clasped it tightly around my wrist.

* * *

When I came back down the stairs, the Cajun was sitting on my old sofa, looking over his shoulder charmingly at me, his sunglasses pushed up to the crown of his head. I tried to smile back.

"Let's get started, shall we?" I said with a little sigh.

He stood and turned to face me all in one graceful movement. He claimed it was the best suggestion he'd heard today, then made some witty, yet suggestive, comment about helping me out of my clothes. He even threw a wink. How cute. Behavior that only reminded me of every teenage boy at the school, except that this was no boy. This was a grown man. A grown man with gorgeous auburn hair, a voice like warm honey and dreamy broad shoulders.

"You gonna talk like that all day, Cajun?" I asked with a little bit of attitude.

He shrugged at me and started pulling out the French. I wasn't fluent, but I knew enough to get the gist of everything he said. I really hoped I wasn't going to have to put up with sexual banter _all_ day. I rolled my eyes at the prospect of it, yet had to fight back a little laughter. At least he was amusing.

"Get off yer ass an' help me move this couch, Swamp Rat."

"Oh, _chere._ That hurts _le coeur d'un homme_."

I looked at him with a very flat face. Oh, the dramatics of a Frenchman. I nodded slowly with my lips pressed together.

"Ah'm sure ya tell all the girls that. Now help me move this damn couch." I squatted to pick up my end, concentrating not only on proper lifting, but also the restraint of my strength. It really wouldn't do to lift the whole sofa myself, would it?

It took a short moment to realize nothing was happening on the other end. I looked across at the help I'd recruited only to find his gaze fixed on my chest. Sigh. It never fails. I should walk around in turtle necks or something. Geeze.

"Cajun!" I snapped.

He apologized, maybe even blushed a little, I couldn't be sure. His brain kicked back on and he finally helped lift the furniture. Once we got the couch where I thought I wanted it, I managed to make every other piece fall into place in my mind's eye. Okay, so this moving thing could turn out to be easier than I thought. When it came time to move the TV, not even thinking about its weight, I prepared myself to lift it. I was even going to struggle a little for good measure.

"_Non,_ let me get it," he said softly from behind.

I shrugged and moved out of his way. He looked plenty strong, but it was his back to throw out carrying it across the room by himself. When he got a grip and started for the stand, I saw the surprise flick across his face, though he tried hard to hide it. I almost went to help him, but he balanced on the balls of his feet and managed to stabilize his top-heaviness. I was impressed.

Another hour or so of moving boxes and pushing furniture around went by before my stomach started to let me know just how empty it was. It made a sound similar to Logan when he got upset; a low, pitchy growl. I put a hand over my midsection and plopped down on the old sofa, puffing out a lungful of air. The Cajun was still bent over on his knees, hooking all the electronics to the TV and sound system, and I was perfectly content to sit back and enjoy the show.

I know, I know. I complained about him staring at my chest so adamantly, but guys never complain about being stared at. Besides, I hadn't seen an ass like that outside of spandex in a while. I almost forgot how well some men wear denim. His shirt fit him just right so that I could follow the line of his spine as he worked, watch the muscles flow effortlessly under the cloth-covered skin. I ended up back at his rear end, unable to _not_ look at it. Not to mention the well-muscled thighs and tight calves. God… I could just imagine those legs contracting as his hips—

"_Chere?_ _Chere_, you alright?" He was standing in front of me now, his eyebrows drawn together in a mild concern.

"Huh? Oh… yeah. Yeah, Ah'm… Ah'm fine." I forced a smile on my face as I came back to myself. When did he get up?

"Good. Ya looked a little gone for a second, there." I watched him visibly relax a bit. "Well, uh. It's all hooked up, now." He sat down next to me and let himself settle into the cushions, his eyes drifting closed.

We sat there a moment in silence, just taking a break, when my stomach voiced its opinion once more.

"Are you hungry?" I asked, my voice cracking slightly. The quiet had seemed so thick, so nice. I almost felt bad breaking it.

"What ya got in mind?" he drawled lazily, his eyes still shut.

"Ah'm a pretty good cook. An' I got steak in the fridge. Ah could make us some slightly healthy Philly cheese-steaks." Not that a sandwich like that could ever be healthy, of course. But frying in olive oil instead of grease is a little better, I suppose. I could almost taste the oil dripping down the bread, with the cheese stringing with every bite. My stomach growled again.

"Sounds good ta you, that's f'sure," he said with a smirk, cracking an eyelid and glancing at my midsection. "Not that I ever heard of even a slightly healthy cheese-steak, but it's worth the try."

I heard him follow me into the kitchen as I started moving boxes off the counter and away from the stove. I caught him just before he sat at one of the stools at the island.

"Could you hand me the skillet out 'o that box on the end there?" I pointed blindly as I buried my head in the newly stocked refrigerator. I pulled out a baggie of leftover London broil and plopped it on the island counter next to the sink. Then came the bell pepper and red onion. The bread and cheese could wait until the steak was done.

I found and rummaged through the silverware box until I found a decent knife and a couple of forks. By the time I turned around, the Cajun had the skillet sitting on the stove, and himself on a barstool.

"Why thank ya, kindly, mister," I said overly sweet with a smile.

"Ma'am," he said with a thick drawl and the tip of a fake hat.

There was still a little smile on my face as I pulled out the cutting board and started slicing the rare steak into thin strips.

"So, _chere._ I been thinkin'. It ain't very fair that you know my name, yet I haven't the slightest of yours." His fingers slipped onto the cutting board to sneak a slice of the cold meat. He licked the light seasonings off his fingers and I was momentarily distracted by the way his mouth moved, how pliable and soft his lips seemed, and the way his Adam's apple bobbed in that incredibly tan throat.

I quickly got back to the task at hand. "_Au contraire_ (on the contrary), Cajun. I know your _last_ name and that you cheat at cards. That's about it." Well… it wasn't a _complete_ lie. I knew a couple of other things.

I turned to drizzle some olive oil in the skillet and turned the stove on. I managed to find most of my seasonings, too, and sprinkled just a little rosemary in the oil. Then I went back to the island to cut the peppers and onion.

"When ya think 'bout it, that's still a lot more than I know 'bout you. You're jus' some mysterious _femme_ who caught me cheatin'. I mean, I already know where ya live, an' now ya cookin' me lunch. Ya might as well tell me your name, don' ya think?" He tried to steal a slice of bell pepper, but I caught his wrist, momentarily freezing before I realized that nothing was happening. I still had to get used to that.

My hand moved slowly from his wrist, secretly enjoying the feel of his skin through something other than leather or silk. My fingers covered his and I brought his hand to my mouth, stealing the pepper from his loose grip, all the while my eyes tracing the curves of his palm and the joints of his knuckles. I reluctantly let his hand slip from mine and resumed my cutting. I swallowed and looked up at him, the expression on his face relaxed and pleasantly surprised.

"Anna," I said softly. "Mah name's Anna."


	8. A First For Everyone

* * *

**Dear Readers,**

**Wow. It's been a long while. Ok. I apologize, really, I do. My computer didn't have any virus protection for about three weeks, so I couldn't really do anything online. Then the protection we bought kind screwed our computer up because of system issues they're having, yet neglect to tell anyone about before you download the software. Anyways. I told you all I'd be slow when I started writing agian. :P I'm working 6 days a week til 11 and 12 at night, so I'm pretty tired lately. Not to mention I have an art competition my school is holding, so I'm trying to work very hard on that. I could use some prize money. :)**

**On a side note, this chapter is for **Gator Bait **and** PennyLane **for being awesome. I tried to keep the histories comic and cartoon based. A mix of both. And the fight with Carol I mention is from one of the comics (of course Gambit is in it) of the X-Men Legacy line. Rogue's out in Austrailia and the physical manifestation of the Danger Room (I forget her name) keeps plaguing Rogue with memories and situtations, one of which is a fight with a very rotted Carol Danvers. Kinda Marvel Zombies style. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!**

**Your obedient servant,  
~R.W.**

* * *

It felt so strange, saying my name aloud; without fear or uncertainty. The name Rogue had become so natural to me over the years. Logan still used it. In fact, most of the team did, but they also knew I was no longer afraid to be Anna Darkholm. It's who I am, legally speaking. Raven had very little to do with my life anymore, but I still held the name. I always would, and I refused to run from that.

I let a small smile tug at my lips, happy to be at ease with most of my past. The man across from me didn't say a word. He kind of fell into a personal silence. A thoughtful look settled over his face and I left him to himself a while. Lunch passed with a pensive air and little conversation. It reminded me of lunches with the professor.

Eventually, we made our way to the back yard, walking along the overgrown path that winds through the equally overgrown grass and weeds. Behind the reeds, we sat on the homemade dock, our knees almost touching through our rolled-up jeans. We both dangled our feet back and forth in the pond water.

"Tell me about y'self, Cajun," I said softly, testing the severity of our silence.

He grinned a little. "Not much ta tell."

"Oh, come now. A man who cheats his was to fortune can't lead that dull of a life."

He gave me a sideways glance. " 'Cheat my way ta fortune'? You make me sound like a seasoned player, _chere._ If I was so good, you wouldn't've caught me."

How cute. He was trying to be modest.

"Ah know better'n that," I said, disbelief dripping from my words.

I watched a genuine curiosity cross his handsome face. Curiosity, not surprise. I wiggled my fingers at him as a silent answer to an unasked question. He seemed to try and figure it out on his own, coming to the most common solution: telepathy. It was just the first thing most people thought of when you somehow knew intimate details of their life; never mind that I shook your hand first.

"No," I said before the word left his lips.

"No, what?" he said, amusement laced in his voice.

"No. Not a telepath."

"Then—"

"Nope." I shook my head. I wasn't giving in that easy. "Ah asked first. You tell me, Ah tell you."

He took a minute to think. He glanced at the watch around his left wrist.

"Ah know enough that you don't like ta be at home, much. But if ya don't wanna be here, either…"

"No, no, no. Not you, _chere._ Definitely _not _you. It's jus' a long story."

"The cliché thing ta say would be 'Ah got all day.' So. Have at it. Ah got holes that need fillin' in and a story to explain 'em."

He heaved a heavy sigh. Then he agreed.

"I'll give you the short version. F' my own sake more 'n yours. Grew up here on the streets. Man named Jean-Luc went an' adopted me after I tried ta pick his very heavy pockets. Taught 'n trained me well. I was a better t'ief 'n his own son, _mon frère_ (my brother), in no time. One day, I saw this _femme_, we was runnin' about ten then, an' these _homes_ started givin' 'er a rough time. What do I do? I, Remy Etienne LeBeau, wanted ta be 'er hero. By the time I got to 'er, she be throwin' little knives left 'n right. Came outta nowhere, they did. I realized then that Bella was the daughter of the head of the Assassin Guild, jus' like _père_ was to the t'ieves. I tell you, _chere._ Love at first sight exists." He paused, his eyes distant, as if missing the memory.

I have to admit, I was disappointed the wife bit was true. But we can never have all that we want in life.

"And?" I urged.

"And? Oh… Needless to say, there were vows, despite our in-laws' mutual hatred of the situation. It was more of a business transaction to them. A way of forced peace between the groups." He didn't sound like he was too happy about it anymore. Once, it was all he lived for.

"No happily ever after?" I asked, digging into business that was not my own.

"_Non._ Bella's handlin' that part." He gave me a weak smile. One that said he'd come to terms with everything, and regretted nothing.

"Was she simply not who you thought she was?" I should really quit being so nosey.

"Not that," he said with a hint of a real smile. "She was everythin' an' more. We were in love. Truly. It's jus' changed over the last couple 'o years." He paused, then looked me in the eye. "Your turn."

"But you never said a word about that mutation 'o yours."

"You first," he challenged.

"Mine's part of the story."

A little reluctantly, he picked up a small, smooth rock and rolled in around in his fingers. I paid attention to those fingers again, loving how rough his calluses looked. I even tried to imagine how they might feel across my inner forearm, along the backs of my knees.

I was concentrating a little too hard on the imaginary when the little rock began to glow with a white-hot force. I could feel the heat as it was charged from the inside out, the air around it sizzling with pink energy. With a flick of his wrist, he threw it into the pond instead of skipping it. The water exploded upward with the blast, splashing us both quite thoroughly.

"I can charge organic matter, too. If I can touch it, I can usually make it go boom."

I nodded as I whipped the water from my face. We could have used him on the team.

"Well…" I began slowly. "Ah'm from Mississippi. Ah jus' didn't stay there too long. When Ah was about twelve, Ah put mah best friend into a coma; jus' by kissin' 'im. He woke up about a year ago. Ah ran from home, from mah Aunt who raised me, when the town realized they had themselves a mutant. Finally, Ah met Raven and she legally adopted me. Ah ran with her little team of muties and helped take down a woman who Raven convinced us all was a threat to mutant kind: Carol Danvers. Ah held onto that woman for so long, Ah permanently absorbed _her_ mutations. Unfortunately, Ah got her mind, too." I tapped my temple lightly. "She's always up here, now. Eventually, Ah left them. Professor Xavier found me. He ran a school in New York for young mutants. Offered room and board for people who didn't have anywhere else ta go. He had his own team. Only that team was more family than Raven's ever was to me. Xavier died recently and we all went back to where we came from as the new people we are. Eric was kind enough to move the school to Genosha where a lot of the students still attend."

There was a short moment of quiet.

"You're a sponge?" he asked, trying to make light of things. "Not ta make a bad joke, but do you really live in a pineapple under the sea?"

I laughed a little. Being compared to a cartoon was not something I was used to. "Kinda, Ah guess. It's something about mah skin. A friend designed this bracelet for me. Shuts down my powers. We're still working on it, fixing bugs. Right now, Ah can't even use powers Ah've absorbed." I showed off my only piece of jewelry, flipping it over to point out the small switch and the red light that indicated activity.

"Seems a bit overwhelming."

"Sometimes," I said with a pensive smile. "But it's easier now, with this. Headaches for me are the worst of it. Mah head hurts; so does everyone else's. Ah'm stressed, so's everyone else. There are a few reasonable minds in here, and they help keep it all under control." I couldn't help but smile again. I wasn't used to being so comfortable with myself. Nor so open with someone I barely knew.

A short silence settled as we both simply ran out of things to say.

I heard him take a deep breath, preparing for something he was unsure of.

"That night, at the club…" he left the statement to trail off.

"Yeah. Ah tried to get the bouncer ta let me in. He felt me diggin' in his head with borrowed power. Ah jus' forgot ta turn the chip in the bracelet back on." I absently played with the chain 'round my wrist.

"What's it like? What ya take someone in, I mean." His shades slipped down the bridge of his nose, the colors intoxicating as he gave me the full weight of those pulsing eyes. They seem to be something completely on their own, glowing with the steady beat of his curious heart. The look he gave me was like that of a little kid: full of wonder and a kind of appreciation. I wondered, in that moment, how often he'd come across other mutants, especially as a child. I also decided to humor him.

"Remember that little shock you felt?" I asked softly.

He simply nodded.

I closed my eyes, bringing back the memory of Carol, the biggest haunt I had. Her psyche never let me forget that day. Every now and then, she would come out to remind me of what I stole from her. I could still see the fight I had with her, illusory though it was, I fought back, tired of her bullying.

"Imagine that tingle all over. Not jus' across your skin, but everywhere. An almost burning sensation. Feel it behind your eyes, weaving through your ribs, wrapping like a blanket, suffocating your brain. Ya could even taste it on your tongue. It gets harder to breathe, think, and speak. All ya can hear is the blood pumping through your veins, your heart racing. It's the strongest at the point of contact, naturally. All at once, you fade away from yourself, like falling asleep. Of course, that's how it feels ta me. Ah can feel the person jus'… slip away, if Ah hold on long enough."

He looked even harder at me; I could feel it behind my closed eyelids. When I opened my eyes, I saw that beautifully masculine hand hovering just above my cheek. I felt my pulse quicken, my skin flush with heat. He was so close.

He licked his lips carefully. "So if I were ta touch you, right now, nothing would happen?" His voice was breathy, unsure.

I took a second to focus on my breathing, then nodded slowly. How did this happen? In the course of a few short hours, this day had gone from terribly casual, to terribly personal, and now we're terribly close to… _something._ What that something was, I couldn't figure out. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know, either. Even if that something was a simple palm on my cheek, it would be one of the first touches I wouldn't have to recoil from, that I wouldn't have to fear. I could ­_enjoy_ it.

Then it happened. He slowly pressed his palm to my face and I couldn't fight the sigh that slipped from me. All I could feel was the exquisite warmth radiating from his skin. Not the warmth of his power, but the natural temperature of his body. I let my eyes close again. I memorized the way he formed his hand to the curve of my cheek to fit perfectly. How his touch was so light and hesitant that it drove me crazy, sent tingles all over my body. Good tingles. Tingles that carried nothing but average sensation. If I could do nothing else but keep this man's hand to my face, I would be content.

I wasn't so lost in the moment that I didn't notice those rough fingers sliding along the side of my face to mingle in my hair. It's not that I ignored the knowledge that our faces were slowly moving closer to one another, I just didn't stop it. My eyes remained closed, but it was as if I could see anyways. I could feel his eyes, those entrancing things, scan my face carefully, thoughtfully. I took in the warmth of his breath across my relaxed mouth as his lips parted in his own sense of wonderment. What was going to happen now was a milestone moment in anyone's life. The first kiss wasn't supposed to be this late, but I was finally experiencing things like everyone else. After 11 years of suffering, I was getting to feel something _real._ Not just witness it.

No matter how much I'd thought about it in the past, nothing could prepare me. He wasn't harsh, he wasn't even pushy. He simply touched his lips to my own. There was nothing insistent in his body language; he was letting me take the lead. Of course, I had no idea what to do. I didn't try to mimic what I saw in others, I just tried to _feel._ His lips were softer than I imagined and, as I moved my mouth slightly against his, just as pliable. This awareness was almost too much and I almost pulled away.

His hand on the back of my head increased the pressure slightly, as if he felt my body tense, and was telling me to relax. I felt him shift his weight more comfortably on the old wood as his other hand came to the side of my face. With a hand on either side of me, he held me there, politely and without force, willing me to stay. Then his lips separated just a fraction more and he gently pulled on my bottom lip, capturing it.

It was a perfect moment, this. I never wanted to let it go, never wanted to forget. There were simply not enough words to describe every impression coursing through me.

When he pulled away, it was softly and slowly, a little reluctant it seemed. His hands didn't leave my face as I opened my eyes to look at him. He'd taken his sunglasses off, set them down on the dock behind him and twisted his body to face me. He was staring at me, gauging my reaction, I think.

"_Je suis désolé_," he whispered. "I jus'… couldn't help myself."

I placed my hands over his and brought them down to our laps. With a smile, I said. "Sugah, never apologize for somethin' that wonderful."


End file.
